A Fallen Angel
by OutCold
Summary: Lisbon knows better than anyone - the past should stay there. But the wrong case and the right suspect can bring it back, and suddenly she's fighting a losing battle to hide it. Happy Birthday Tiva4evaxxx! Jisbon. Warnings inside. 50th fic!


**Disclaimer: Emily owns the Mentalist. Well, the boxset.**

**A/N: Happy birthday Emily! Tiva4evaxxx is her penname, go review as a present. **

**A/N2: Thanks to FadeIntoTheBackground, firstly for betaing, and secondly because the names I use for Lisbon's brothers are from her wonderful fic "Mind Over Matter". I didn't have the energy to think of my own.**

**A/N3: Rated for language and... I don't want to spoil the story, which makes this hard, but there's a warning here, is all? For a little disturbing, but not graphic. I think it's fine, but if you're one of those readers who'd actually get freaked out by this warning, then be safe and don't read.**

* * *

"Teresa Lisbon," the man repeated quietly, contemplatively, and she felt her stomach twist. "Hey there, Angel."

It had been a long time since Lisbon had run away. With a murmured, "Give me a minute," to Jane, she'd rushed out the door of the interrogation room and straight down the corridor, brushing past Hightower in her hurry, stumbling into the women's toilets.

Leaning against the wall of a cubicle, her stomach finally upturned and she threw up. Hyperventilating, she didn't even notice the tears streaking her face. Finally, once she felt vaguely steady again, she wandered over to the sink. Pushing down the tap, she cupped water into her mouth and gurgled it, spitting it back out, desperately trying to get rid of the taste. She wanted to go home and brush her teeth, but it was still the middle of the day. Then she wet a paper towel and cleaned up the mascara trails.

There was nothing she could do about the bloodshot, desperate eyes. Taking a deep breath, she stepped back out.

She didn't go back to interrogation, but slipped into the observation room to see Cho had taken her place. She collapsed into a chair and tried not to collapse into tears again. She needed to get her head together; it wasn't right to be like this at work. It had been a lifetime ago, after all. A long lifetime.

_Hey there, Angel. _She felt the bile rise in her throat again, but kept it down. Not at work. Please, just please, if there was a god, He needed to let her get to the end of this day. And preferably without talking to Jane again. She could almost see the gears whirring in that curly blond head of his. And she could only hope her suspect was still optimistic enough about his chances of getting off that he wouldn't compromise himself by telling any of her team the story.

Please, if there was a god.

She watched the interrogation on the edge of her seat. Samuel Keats, arrested on three counts of child prostitution, kept his mouth well and truly shut. She's never been so grateful not to get a confession.

Eventually Cho and Jane left him there. Lisbon stood and composed herself. Jane stepped into observation.

"Angel?" he asked, not beating about the bush.

"Just because some womanising paedophile comes up with a stupid name is no reason for you to use it, Jane," she responded, and was proud when her voice didn't shake.

"No reason for you to run away either."

She rolled her eyes. "You think I left because of _that_?" she asked incredulously. "My cell vibrated, is that a crime now?"

He looked unconvinced. "Who was it?"

"Who was what?"

"Your cell call."

She glared. "Do you really need to know every tiny little detail of my life?"

"Only when you're lying about it." His annoying face changed to that tender, interested expression that she found so hard to turn down. "I care about you, why won't you accept that?" he asked, allowing a touch of hurt to creep into his voice.

"Because you don't need to. I'm fine. Leave me alone." Maybe it was harsh, but she needed him to go. She really needed him to just leave it, for once.

"You're not fine, Teresa. Why are you lying to me?"

Raising her eyebrows, she said, "Not telling you who called me is not lying. It's not wanting you to know something." Steeling herself for the one thing that might change his track, she added, "It was personal."

His eyes widened. "Now Lisbon, there isn't someone you haven't been telling me about, is there?"

"Do you understand the word 'personal', Jane?" she demanded. "Let it go." She pushed past him out the door to talk to Cho.

Jane was left wondering what the hell to do. Of course, he'd never intended on asking Lisbon out himself or anything, but something possessive inside him reared up at the thought of her seeing someone else. After all, she was his. In a delicate, difficult, complicated way. They were each other's. Nothing would change that. So for her to have a… boyfriend? Well, that'd just be weird. And awkward. And Jane would absolutely need to meet him. And possibly scare him off.

Probably scare him off. Or maybe just flirt with Lisbon in front of him until he decided she wasn't worth it.

That could be fun. He had long chosen not to question himself when his thoughts went down a path like this, just accept that it was the way things were. Still, he hoped Lisbon hadn't chosen a complete tool – or maybe he hoped she had, it would make it easier to justify getting rid of the guy.

The first thing was to find out who he was…

That was as far as Jane got before he remembered how certain he'd been that Lisbon had been lying about getting a phone call. Jane whistled, he wouldn't deny he was impressed with her distraction. Laughing, he ignored the relief he felt that Lisbon, he was fairly sure, didn't have a boyfriend. It was time to figure out what was up.

Lisbon, after checking there was no one in observation and locking it, stepped again into the interrogation room, determined not to let him get to her again.

"Hello Angel," he said, and she didn't react.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Keats," she said, sitting across from him.

"Don't give me that, beautiful," he protested. "Just cause you've moved on and up."

"Can you tell me where you were last night at ten pm?" she resolutely asked.

"Bull," he said. "Your esteemed colleagues have already done that bit, Angel. Why don't you tell me why you're really here?"

"This is where I work," she said, raising her eyebrows.

"Yeah?" he replied, glancing around. "Well, you know what I say? Once a whore, always a who- "

"Shut up, Sammy," she cut him off.

He grinned. "That's more like it."

"I have a different life now," she said, hating how her voice sounded; like she was pleading with him.

"You've moved on, yadda yadda, I know how it goes, darling, I've heard it all before."

"I'm not 'darling'," she said. "I'm not darling, beautiful, and I'm definitely not Angel anymore, okay?"

"Don't you get all high and mighty on me," he told her. "I gave you a lifeline. And you were grateful, weren't you? Or am I remembering this wrong? How come you get to be mad at me?"

_When she came in from school, Sam was helping her dad in the door. _

"_Oh god," she said. "I'm so sorry – where was he?"_

_Sam grimaced at her. "Just at the pub, Angel, it's okay. I went in for a pint and he _

_was smashed, so I thought you might want him back."_

"_Yeah, thank you, you shouldn't have to do this."_

"_Happy to, honey. Where are the boys today?"_

"_Tommy's at his girlfriend's," she grinned; taking her dad's other arm. "I swear no one had girlfriends or boyfriends when I was ten. Davey and Kurt are at their after-school club. That place is a lifesaver." She paused and added, "Like you."_

"_It's not fair you have to do this either, Angel," Sam said sympathetically._

_He'd been so kind to her since her mother had died – helpful but not intrusive. Together they began the battle of bringing her barely-conscious father up the stairs into his room. _

_She shrugged. "Who else is gonna do it, Sam?"_

"_Well there's always… care," he suggested._

"_No."_

"_Might be the best way, you don't have to look after the little guys."_

"_They're my brothers, Sam. I'll look after them. I can do it, okay?" she glared at him, pride shining out of her face. _

_He nodded acceptingly. "How are you for money though, beautiful?"_

_They dumped her dad on the bed, Lisbon set to unlacing his shoes, refusing to meet his eye. "I keep getting letters from dad's bank," she admitted. "But I don't know what to do. I'm only thirteen; I can't get a job that'll make me any actual money. I don't know how to tell Tommy we can barely afford food, let alone his birthday."_

_He nodded – this was the answer he'd been expecting. "There is something you could do, Angel."_

_She looked round at him, stopping her task. "What?"_

"_It pays well, but… well, it depends how far you're willing to go."_

_She walked to the dresser behind him, picked up a picture of herself and her three brothers. "I'll do anything, Sam. Anything."_

"It's part of the job, Sam," she finally answered. "All whores get to be mad at their pimps."

He smiled like he'd just won something she didn't know they were playing.

Jane rattled the doorknob of observation again. And again, nothing happened. This only proved to him that Lisbon was hiding something, however it made it very hard to find out what.

Sighing and wondering why no one trusted him enough to give him keys to anything, he set off jogging down the corridor. He tapped at Hightower's door and got no response, so stepped into the office. He nearly laughed aloud when he saw her lying back on the couch in there, fast asleep. He took a second to remember the moment in case it could be used against her in the future, and then stepped closer. A ring of keys hanging out of her bag was his aim, he had planned to persuade her to hand them over, but this was far better. Carefully, he pulled them out. Then he ran back down the corridor.

He tried key after key until eventually the door swung open, and he saw through the glass Lisbon talking to Keats. She almost looked relaxed, but Jane knew her well enough to know she wasn't.

"So what _were _you going to say, Angel?" Keats asked.

He expected Lisbon to protest the nickname, but she let it be. "I was going to ask you to keep your mouth shut," she said, completely honestly.

Keats laughed. "And how were you going to get me to do that?"

"You and I know you're guilty." When he looked like he was going to say something she said, "You don't need to confirm or deny that. But right now, there's a chance you walk out of here."

Jane knew she was lying – they had him, and Lisbon knew it.

"Even if we can't pin you to those three girls, my story…"

"Would put me in prison," he finished.

"Exactly. My testimony would destroy you. So let's keep it between us, I don't want people to know either."

He looked sceptical. "Right, and say that for some reason I am found guilty…"

"Sammy," Jane started with shock – not just 'Samuel' but 'Sammy'? "There's no tape rolling, you don't need to do the legal thing."

"Answer the question, beautiful."

She shrugged. "I don't know. Old times sake?"

Sammy laughed. "What about a kiss? For old times sake?"

Jane stopped breathing, waiting for Lisbon to punch the guy. She didn't But she did say, "Fuck off," which he didn't think he'd ever heard her say before, and stand up.

"Ahh, things have changed so much since you were willing to do 'anything'. What are you willing to do?"

Now Jane didn't just want to see Lisbon punch him – though it would be satisfying – he'd prefer to hit the guy himself. Once again, to his surprise, Lisbon didn't lash out. Nor did she cut him down.

"Sam, I am _begging _you," she said.

He smirked. "That's more like it, Angel."

Lisbon turned away from him, looking directly at Jane, though she didn't know that. She closed her eyes, and to his shock he saw a teardrop roll down her cheek. Looking back at Keats with disgust, not bothering to hide that she was crying, she walked toward the door.

Jane quickly stepped out of observation and locked the door again just in time for Lisbon coming out of interrogation.

"He give you anything?" he faked.

"Nothing," she said.

For once, he pretended not to notice anything was wrong, and she rushed past him. He leant back against the wall, trying to straighten out his head.

After returning the keys to a still sleeping Hightower, Jane decided it was time to get answers. From the horse's mouth… or the next best horse, at any rate. For the second time he went to talk to Samuel Keats.

"Samuel," he greeted, pulling out the chair opposite him.

The man, looking bored, met Jane's eye. "Blondie," he returned.

Despite the circumstances, Jane fought an urge to laugh. Keats really was fond of endearments and nicknames.

"You have a past with Agent Lisbon," he bluffed.

"What's it to you?"

"I'm curious," Jane said. "If she's told you there's any possibility you're walking out of here, she lied."

Samuel went white. "Look, man, I don't know what you're on about."

"Yes, you do," he said. "And I suggest you start telling me about it."

"Why should I?"

Jane didn't have a pre-prepared answer to this.

Meanwhile, Lisbon unlocked observation, having finally remembered she left it closed. When she saw Jane and Sam talking, she couldn't help stepping in to hear them, and froze when she did.

"Look buddy," Samuel continued. "Riddle-me-this – are you fucking her?"

His heart skipped a beat; he wanted to attack the smug bastard sitting across from him for talking about her like that.

"No," he said, shaking with anger.

Samuel made a sympathetic face. "I'm so sorry. She's great in bed."

That was it, without thinking Jane snapped to his feet and smashed his fist into the other man's face.

Lisbon gasped but didn't move – a part of her filled with warmth at Jane's protectiveness, another at horror that he'd just assaulted a suspect.

Jane wrung out his hand, he'd forgotten how much punching someone hurt. Samuel clutched his nose.

"You bastad," Sam wheezed. "I think you bwoke my wose."

He couldn't help but grin, and threw a pack of tissues in the direction of the man, feeling he didn't even deserve that. Keats mopped himself up, and looked at Jane with venom.

"Your girlfriend was a whore," he said. "Little Teresa Lisbon needed money to look after her family, she always was _so _responsible, she'd do anything she told me… and she did everything."

Lisbon couldn't move. Horror filled her, she couldn't comprehend that Jane knew… oh god, Jane knew. How could she ever look him in the eye again? What would he think?

Jane was too shocked to punch him again, though he would have dearly loved to."What?" he croaked.

"Oh yes. Her mom died, her dad lost her job he was drinking so much, the bank were sending letters – and Sammy was just so good to her and so helpful, and, well, he just _understood. _So when I told her there was a job she could do that would make her enough money to keep her family together, she jumped at the opportunity. For five years she belonged to me – Angel, if you were wondering, is the name I used for her with punters, she was very popular."

Choking on tears, Lisbon pushed down the intercom.

"Sammy, that's enough," she said, and heard a tinny echo of her voice in the next room. "Please."

Jane didn't think he'd ever heard her say 'please' so much.

"Jane," she continued, "could you, uhh, could you come through into observation?"

"And what about my nose?" Sam demanded. "I want to prosecute him."

As Jane walked out the door, it gave him a twisted pleasure to hear Lisbon say, "Oh, grow a pair, won't you?"

Lisbon heard the door swing open.

"Hello Blondie," she said, trying for a light, joking tone. She didn't turn around, because she couldn't stop crying.

"Hello Angel," he replied.

She winced. In that second she wasn't Teresa Lisbon, respected CBI Agent anymore, she was a scared girl in strange hotel room; and she wasn't going to let anyone make her feel like that again. Not even Patrick Jane.

"Don't call me that."

He shook his head, eyes burning with anger and hatred and horror at this confirmation of Keats' story. "Why? How could you?"

"Don't you dare judge me, Jane," she said coldly, still staring into the interrogation room. "You're willing to become a murderer for your family – I was willing to become a whore for mine."

He grabbed her arm and pulled her round to face him, hand flying up to her cheek. He stopped it centimetres from her face and held it there, trembling, unable to believe what he'd almost done.

More tears fell from Lisbon's eyes; she lifted her chin and turned her cheek slightly toward him.

"Go on then," she said softly. "Why not? Maybe that's what it'll take to get you off your holier-than-thou pedestal. Take a walk among us mere mortals, Jane, you might like it."

Still his hand hovered in the air; still his brain was frozen with horror.

She tilted her head toward the glass, at Keats. "He likes it rough too," she whispered. She saw anger flash in his eyes at the comparison, but still he didn't follow through. She just wanted him to hurt her. All the bitterness – manufactured to give her the strength to get through this – melted away, and she stared at him. "Please Jane," she begged. "I want to know if it feels different when it's you."

Finally he moved his hand, but not to hit her. Slowly, nervously, as though approaching a wild animal, he laid his hand gently on her cheek, wiped away the tears. He slid it down to tilt up her chin. Part of him was still hurt and furious – how could she say things like that? How could she compare him to them? But how could he hit her? Was there any better way to prove her right? And he couldn't remember feeling such immense sadness.

So he only did what felt right – and hoped it was. He leant down and brushed his lips against hers. He kissed her as softly as he possibly could.

She sighed and stepped closer to him, putting her arms around his neck to pull him to her. Her lips parted beneath his, and though he accepted this he still moved slowly, refused to change the pace.

She'd forgotten it could feel like this, that it was possible to be so gentle.

He broke away from her, just to kiss her jaw, and whisper against her skin, "I'm not like them."

Lisbon laughed quietly, bitterly. "I know that Jane. Of course I know that."

"I'm sorry," he told her, trying to say it all. "I'm so sorry that I…"

"Don't," she told him. "I deserved it."

"Never say that. You couldn't do anything to deserve it."

"I'm sorry too," Lisbon said, "for saying…"

"Forgiven," Jane immediately said, and she could still feel his warm breath on her cheek. "Can you forgive me, Teresa?"

"Forgiven," she echoed. "Always."

They stood together in the dark room, listening to the sounds of their own breathing.

"Patrick?" Lisbon asked. "Could you do me a favour?"

"Anything."

She closed her eyes and leant up to his ear. "Kiss me again."

* * *

***fiddles nervously***


End file.
